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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26588173">i need you (so much closer)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlerie/pseuds/owlerie'>owlerie</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Avatar: The Last Airbender</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Bending (Avatar TV), Angst with a Happy Ending, Arranged Marriage, Multi, Slow Burn, i would call this a holiday fic but its not really, its a tender one, maiko is kind of big in this but its purely platonic theyre gay/lesbian solidarity, this is an album fic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 13:07:15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,183</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26588173</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlerie/pseuds/owlerie</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>He supposes he should be used to this feeling by now. Zuko lives his entire life on the periphery — he’s allowed to look but not touch, to be seen but not heard, to exist but only as arm candy for Mai or a punching bag for Azula.</p><p>Existing quietly in someone else's space is something Zuko has gotten very used to.</p><p>—————</p><p>In which Zuko has a terrible New Year's Eve, and Sokka has a dog.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aang/Katara (Avatar), Mai/Ty Lee (Avatar), Mai/Zuko (Avatar), Minor or Background Relationship(s), Sokka/Suki (Avatar), Sokka/Zuko (Avatar), the maiko is platonic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>125</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. so this is the new year</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Okay, so this is maybe the third Zukka fic I've started writing since rewatching the show a couple months ago, but it's the first I feel like I can actually post. It's been a <i>long</i> time, yall. These boys live rent free in my brain.</p><p>This is not-so-loosely based on Transatlanticism (the album) by Death Cab for Cutie, and as such will probably end up being a pretty long fic. That being said, I hope you all stick around to see how it goes!! Super super excited to be posting fic again. </p><p>Enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>so this is the new year</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>and i don’t feel any different</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>—————</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s an hour to midnight and Zuko’s New Year’s Eve is going </span>
  <em>
    <span>horribly.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s really trying not to be defeatist about it, honestly, but at this point in the night he just wants the holiday done and over with so that he can just get on with his life in tentative peace. The party at Mai’s had been the kicker, he thinks — they had tried to keep it small so that they wouldn’t have to keep up appearances, but his sister had other plans. A surprise appearance from Azula wasn’t the most unpleasant thing possible to deal with, but after a morning of being harassed by his father’s business goons and somehow having every little thing he tried to do go wrong (coffee, was it </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> so hard to make coffee), he just hadn’t had the energy to put up with Azula’s petulant jabs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And so he was here, walking the two miles home with his hands jammed into his coat pockets, watching as flakes of snow dance and swirl in the gusts of wind that buffet his hair and bite at his reddening cheeks. Mai had all but kicked him out after he spilled punch down the front of Azula’s designer suit (which had been purely </span>
  <em>
    <span>accidental,</span>
  </em>
  <span> but it’s not like anyone else would have believed it). Idly, he wonders if the incident would make it into the press — it seems like everything Azula does makes it into the press, these days — before remembering that he’s not supposed to care what the reporters pick up on. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Father will handle it</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Azula’s voice sneers from somewhere in the back of his head, the same way it always does when he inevitably fucks things up. He’ll go back to Mai’s place tomorrow morning with an apology and a flower arrangement too big to fit comfortably through the doorway, and she’ll simper and sigh in the hallway in case anyone is watching, and then they’ll plant themselves on her couch and watch old reruns of terrible soap operas until the sun goes down. It’s a tried and tested habit of theirs, outwardly romantic enough that the people who matter eat it up like chocolates and non-invasive enough that it doesn’t make Zuko feel like pulling his hair out the way he does every time he needs to kiss her in public.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Besides, Mai likes the flowers, even if she complains that they offset her carefully curated living room décor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So, the pit of anxiety in his stomach isn’t because of </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>so much as what had led </span>
  <em>
    <span>up </span>
  </em>
  <span>to it, Azula’s cutting words whispered passively in his ear over glasses of champagne and little tea sandwiches that did more to remind him how hungry he was than to actually sate his appetite. It was the reminder that he was an outsider, even surrounded by people he had known since birth, that everything he wrapped himself in for comfort belonged to someone else (to </span>
  <em>
    <span>Azula</span>
  </em>
  <span>, because she owned everyone that mattered to him and lent them out only with an iron fist tight around their leashes).</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s even easier to believe her now that he’s left the party, walking down a busy street with his face tilted up to the streetlights. Crowds pass and part around him like rivers around rocks, all chattering teeth and red-faced smiles and bright, sparkling eyes. Zuko huddles in on himself in retaliation every time one of them brushes his shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s allowed to feel sorry for himself tonight, Zuko thinks. Holidays are really the only chance he gets to be a sore loser, since everyone is too wrapped up in their own cheer to care about anything else. It’s what he tells himself for comfort as he climbs the lobby steps of his downtown apartment complex, pausing to stare up at the balconies above him as he swipes his keycard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s too dark and too snowy to make out his own window, fifteen floors above, but he sees plenty of activity in the lower floors, flashing lights oozing out of open doorways and the faint sound of disjointed Christmas carols filtering down to the street below. It seems like the entire city is alive, which just makes Zuko want to hurry home and shut out the noise for as long as he can. The beginnings of a headache pound at his temples as he pushes open the lobby door, giving a curt nod to the half-asleep doorman as he beelines for the elevators.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s watching the elevator doors close, thankful for a moment of silence, when he hears the scrabble of feet on tile and a voice call out to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hold it! Wait— hold the elevator,” Zuko hears, and then a hand is sticking itself through the scant gap between the metal doors just in time to get pinched </span>
  <em>
    <span>hard,</span>
  </em>
  <span> before the doors reverse with a grinding squeal. “Ow— </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>says the voice. Zuko blinks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then the doors reopen, and Zuko is staring down maybe the most </span>
  <em>
    <span>handsome </span>
  </em>
  <span>man he’s ever seen, blue-eyed and brown-skinned and flushed with the cold, bundled up in a — frankly kind of ridiculous — holiday sweater, holding tight as a great white </span>
  <em>
    <span>creature</span>
  </em>
  <span> strains against the leash in his hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man smiles, two rows of perfect white teeth, and the animal (a dog, Zuko realizes, not that he’s ever seen a dog this size) bounds right into the elevator and sits itself down in the corner. “Sorry about that,” the man says, “You know how long this thing takes to come back down once it's up there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko just nods dumbly and steps to the side as the man follows his dog into the elevator, jabbing the button for the 12th floor with a gloved hand. The doors close, that same grinding squeal that sets Zuko’s teeth a little on edge, what with the throbbing of his head and the bright fluorescent lights above him. He doesn’t say anything to the man as the elevator takes off, climbing two floors easily.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The back wall of the elevator is a large glass panel, a panoramic view of the city below, and Zuko watches as it clears the treeline and opens up onto the rest of his little world. The snow flurries dance in front of the window, blurring the multicolored glow of holiday lights strung up over buildings and trees, casting the downtown blocks in an ethereal, frosted haze. On the streets below, the crowds that had given Zuko so much trouble were reduced to little pinpricks of color on the icy white pavement, running to and fro between bars and parties, stopping to gaze into shop window displays and duck into coffee shops for a spare bit of warmth. Now, in a silent box removed from the bustle, Zuko allows himself to enjoy the sight — from afar, the way he does everything else in his life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t realize he’s staring until the man beside him clears his throat, prompting Zuko to look up at him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Up,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Zuko realizes, because the man stands nearly a head taller than him — no small feat, considering Zuko isn’t exactly short himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s pretty, isn’t it,” the man says, a lopsided smile stretching across his tan face. “I keep telling Toph she needs to invite us over more.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh,” Zuko replies eloquently. The man’s eyes widen a fraction, his smile widening as he realizes he’s talking to a stranger.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Toph is my friend,” he says, reaching down to pat the fluffy white monstrosity at his feet. “She’s the one who lives here, I’m just taking her boy here for a little walk. I’m Sokka, by the way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko blinks at him, his brain sluggish, before realizing that Sokka </span>
  <em>
    <span>probably</span>
  </em>
  <span> expected an introduction in return. “Zuko,” he replies shortly, sticking out a hand that Sokka shakes enthusiastically. The fabric of his gloves is soft and cold, a little damp from where snow had melted onto it. The elevator ticks up three more floors.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, Zuko,” says Sokka, leaning back onto the handrail casually. “You live here too, or are you just coming for a party? You look like one of those fancy rich kid types that can afford to stay in a place like this, but— well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko watches as Sokka’s eyes drag up and down his outfit, expensive and hand-picked by Mai for maximum effect. He tugs at his tie self-consciously. Sokka’s grin is easy and open, not the lecherous kind that usually comes with being ogled, and it sets Zuko just a bit at ease. Sokka’s probably just being nice, he figures, trying to make casual conversation on a painfully slow elevator ride. He turns back to the window, gesturing out over the city in the vague direction of Mai’s apartment. “Just came back from one,” he says shortly, hoping Sokka doesn’t press for more details.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His luck, as always, is pure shit. Sokka scoffs, leaning up and into Zuko’s personal space — not a very difficult thing to do, considering how small the elevator is. He smells like vanilla and cinnamon, Zuko thinks absently. And a little bit like dog, but that might just be the </span>
  <em>
    <span>actual</span>
  </em>
  <span> dog. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on man, leaving before midnight?” Sokka asks, his blue eyes wide and piercing. Zuko shuffles awkwardly. “Must have been some party.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” he replies. Azula’s sharp grin filters through his mind, and the nearly-forgotten headache returns with a vengeance. “Wasn’t really feeling it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>That’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> an understatement, Zuko thinks, but he isn’t about to spill all his problems to a stranger. Even if said stranger asked in the first place. The elevator ticks up another floor in the awkward span of silence, then another.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, in place of another tick, there’s a rough shake and a squeal of metal on metal, and the little box grinds to a stuttering halt halfway between the tenth and eleventh floors.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko inhales, holds it for three short beats, and exhales long and low through his teeth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tries, he </span>
  <em>
    <span>really honestly tries </span>
  </em>
  <span>not to get upset. All he had wanted was a quiet night in with the blackout curtains drawn to block out the light and some music running in the background to keep his cat from getting too freaked out when the fireworks started going off. Instead, he had been poked and prodded to bits by a sister he hadn’t intended on seeing, endured the freezing walk home after storming out, and now he’s stuck in a cramped metal box with someone he </span>
  <em>
    <span>really would rather not </span>
  </em>
  <span>break down in front of. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A lump works its way into the base of his throat and sits there, waiting for the tears to begin pricking at the corners of his eyes. Great.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka, thankfully, seems ignorant of Zuko's current internal crisis. Instead, he’s let go of the dog’s leash and begun pressing buttons on the elevator’s display, lighting up the </span>
  <em>
    <span>call</span>
  </em>
  <span> and then </span>
  <em>
    <span>emergency</span>
  </em>
  <span> buttons in order. Zuko gives him a silent mental </span>
  <em>
    <span>thanks</span>
  </em>
  <span> for being so level-headed. If he were alone, he thinks, he might have just curled up on the floor and </span>
  <em>
    <span>waited</span>
  </em>
  <span> for the elevator to start working again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As it is, he hasn’t totally ruled that option out, although he figures it might be a little embarrassing to give up and cuddle with a total stranger’s dog for comfort.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shit,” Sokka says, more to the panel of buttons than to Zuko himself. The sound of his voice is faraway, drifting oddly slowly through Zuko’s head for how close Sokka actually is. The floor marker above the door is blinking red, </span>
  <em>
    <span>1-0 </span>
  </em>
  <span>taunting him silently, flickering out every once in awhile just to return and remind him that he’s stuck here. Zuko checks his wristwatch for the time, the dial reading out </span>
  <em>
    <span>11:42.</span>
  </em>
  <span> If he had just sucked it up and made nice with Azula for the night, maybe he could have been across town, counting down the minutes and clinking champagne flutes with his friends.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Azula’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> friends, he reminds himself. She had made that clear enough.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Woah, hey,” Sokka says, his voice filtering through Zuko’s internal monologue just enough to grab his attention. “You look like shit, man, are you okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You aren’t like, claustrophobic or anything, are you? Are you gonna throw up? Please do it on the sweater if you do, I’ve been looking for an excuse to take this off all night—” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko holds up a hand to cut him off. “I’m fine,” he says. It sounds unconvincing, even to his own ears. “Just been a long night.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The speaker crackles to life, saving Zuko any further embarrassment, and the doorman’s tinny voice fills the air.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You boys get stuck up there?” he asks, and Sokka turns away from Zuko to answer. Zuko lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes sir,” Sokka replies. “Can you get us moving again?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a long beat of silence before the doorman answers, during which the little knot of anxiety in Zuko’s gut opens into a yawning pit that feels like it’s about to swallow him whole. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Static fills the air after a moment, and the doorman replies “Not for half an hour, sorry kids. Maintenance just went on break.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko wants to shrink into the wall and never come out again. Sokka, amazingly, just pastes that killer smile back on his face and sends a cheery, “No problem, thanks,” back to the doorman. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once there’s silence again, Sokka turns back around, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Man,” he says in Zuko’s general direction. “The girls are gonna kill me for missing the countdown.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko isn’t sure who </span>
  <em>
    <span>the girls</span>
  </em>
  <span> are, but he nods anyway. “I’m sure they’ll understand,” he replies. “It’s not like you had any control over this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I know,” Sokka says with a shrug. The dog at his feet whines, pawing impatiently at the floor, and Sokka squats down to run a gloved hand through its thick fur. “Almost there buddy, it’s fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His expression does a strange thing then, going impossibly soft and squishy as he soothes the dog, and it makes Zuko’s chest do something strange and painful. This feels like an intimate moment he’s not supposed to see, even though just </span>
  <em>
    <span>thinking </span>
  </em>
  <span>of it that way sounds borderline ridiculous. It’s a </span>
  <em>
    <span>dog,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and apparently it’s not even </span>
  <em>
    <span>Sokka’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> dog — but he still can’t shake the feeling of </span>
  <em>
    <span>invasiveness</span>
  </em>
  <span> that sits on his shoulders. This man isn’t his friend, isn’t someone he’s likely to see ever again. He’s just a cheerful stranger stuck in an uncomfortable situation with Zuko.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He supposes he should be used to this feeling by now. Zuko lives his entire life on the periphery, whether it’s around Mai and Ty Lee, or it’s doing meager finance work for his father while his sister steals the company glory out from underneath him. He’s allowed to look but not touch, to be seen but not heard, to exist as arm candy for Mai or a punching bag for Azula. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Existing quietly in someone else’s space is something he’s gotten very used to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka catches his attention the third or fourth time he calls Zuko’s name, concern written plainly across his face. Zuko blinks and pulls himself out of his own head long enough to realize that Sokka is waiting for an answer to a question Zuko hadn’t heard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh— sorry, what?” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Eloquent, Zuko.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I said, do you have something you need to get back to before midnight?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko thinks of his empty apartment, cold and lonely save for his grouchy old cat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not really,” he replies. Sokka doesn’t seem satisfied with his answer, though, and so Zuko tries to assemble his thoughts long enough to give a vague explanation. “My, ah— my fiancee kicked me out of her celebration.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not a </span>
  <em>
    <span>lie,</span>
  </em>
  <span> technically, even if Mai would berate him six ways to Sunday for calling her his </span>
  <em>
    <span>fiancee</span>
  </em>
  <span> unprompted. It’s a loaded enough statement that any polite, socially conscious person would avoid pressing for more details. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka is, apparently, neither polite nor socially conscious.“Woah, man,” he says, low and breathy. “Lover’s spat? That’s pretty fucked, especially tonight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko grimaces. “Something like that. I was being kind of an ass though, so I guess I had it coming.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That still sucks, though. How long have you two been together?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a strained beat before Zuko replies — he can’t exactly say </span>
  <em>
    <span>sixteen years,</span>
  </em>
  <span> even if it’s the truth — he doesn’t look a day over twenty-five and it’s bound to seem strange to anyone who doesn’t know the ins and outs of powerful families and arranged marriages and all that. Eventually, he settles on a vague, “A while,” and leaves it at that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka whistles slowly in response. “Hey man, I’m sure she’ll come around once she has time to cool off. Girls can be like that sometimes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I wouldn’t know,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Zuko wants to reply, but figures this probably isn’t the time for it. Instead, he diverts the conversation, tilting his head as casually as he can manage and pinning a question on Sokka in return. “What about you? Gonna miss out on anything important?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A low chuckle fills the space between them, husky and soft, and Zuko can see the beginnings of a pink flush high on Sokka’s cheeks. “Nothing like that,” replies Sokka quietly. “Just some friends getting together to celebrate. I’ve got this, uh— not girlfriend, but kind of girlfriend there. She won’t be too pissed, though. She’ll just kiss someone else, probably.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko wants to ask about the </span>
  <em>
    <span>not-girlfriend-but-kind-of-girlfriend</span>
  </em>
  <span> that’s apparently cool with just kissing other people while her boyfriend sits stranded in an elevator</span>
  <em>
    <span>,</span>
  </em>
  <span> but the overhead lights choose exactly that moment to sputter and die, plunging the two of them into relative darkness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Damn,” Sokka whispers, scrabbling at his pockets for his phone. Zuko just turns, sitting back against the handrail and looking out the window.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’re high enough up that the city lights don’t fully light up the small elevator. Instead, they just cast a hazy glow over the compartment, enough that Zuko can make out the outlines of Sokka and his dog in the other corner. When he lifts his watch to check the time, he has to squint before he can make out the hands on the dial. Seven minutes to midnight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A phone rings, cutting through the silence so suddenly that it makes Zuko jump. The dog barks once, gruff and sharp, before Sokka shushes him. It takes two more rings for Zuko to realize it’s his </span>
  <em>
    <span>own </span>
  </em>
  <span>phone, and when he lifts it up to his ear to answer, Ty Lee’s voice rings out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Zuko! It’s almost midnight, are you coming back?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka quirks an eyebrow up, but Zuko just shakes his head. “I don’t think I should.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If this is about Azula,” Ty Lee replies, and the mention of his sister sets static rushing through Zuko’s ears again. It takes him a second, but he wills it away enough to tune back into Ty Lee’s words. “—home, and I don’t think Mai is too upset either.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s fine, really,” he says. “I’m pretty much home anyway, I wouldn’t be able to get back in time for the countdown.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He politely leaves out the fact that he’s stuck in an elevator, because he knows Ty Lee would try and run to his rescue instead of just staying put and enjoying the holiday like she should.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, alright,” she says. He can hear her pout through the phone. “Have a happy new year, Zuko.” Somewhere in the background he can hear Mai’s voice, deadpan and too muffled to make out the words, but he supposes that her trying to talk to him at all is a good enough sign.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You too,” he replies softly, and ends the call before he can do something stupid like start crying.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a moment of silence, Sokka pipes up. “Was that the fiancee?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” It takes Zuko a moment to process, but then he remembers what he had told Sokka earlier. “Oh, no. Just one of her friends checking in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s sweet,” Sokka replies. He takes his phone out of his pocket, shaking it screen-first at Zuko. There’s no notifications on the display, just a blurry picture of Sokka with his arm around a short-haired girl, the two of them wearing matching grins and matching t-shirts. This must be the mystery not-girlfriend, Zuko figures. “Wish </span>
  <em>
    <span>my </span>
  </em>
  <span>friends cared enough to ask where I was.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite himself, Zuko laughs. Sokka lets out a mock-affronted gasp, but the smile on his face betrays his actual feelings. They share a moment like that, stuffed into opposite corners of the small space, the great white dog curled up into a careless ball on the floor between them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know,” Sokka says after a moment. “You could always come up to Toph’s with me, if you don’t have anything else to do. We’ll miss midnight, but the party always goes on for a couple more hours anyway.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko’s heart clenches tightly, and he wills his panic not to show on his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I, uh—” he starts, glancing between the outline of Sokka’s face and the unmoving doorway. “I shouldn’t. I’ve got a cat I need to check on, and I wouldn’t want to intrude.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah, you wouldn’t intrude,” Sokka says, bending down again to pet the dog. “They’re all real chill.” Zuko’s apprehension must show in his expression, though, because Sokka takes one look at him and immediately backpedals. “Or, you know, only if you want. I know you’ve had a long night.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko takes a moment to collect himself, plastering a small smile on his face. He knows it doesn’t reach his eyes, but the light is probably dim for Sokka to notice, anyway. “Thank you,” he says softly. “Really.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah man, can’t just leave you hanging like that. It’s 12-B, if you change your mind.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knows he won’t go, but Zuko appreciates the gesture anyway. It’s more than he would have expected from a stranger — although Sokka is beginning to feel less and less like a stranger with each minute they spend stuck in this box together. It’s a very weird feeling, as though Zuko’s been momentarily displaced from his own life and stuck into a liminal space where he can just </span>
  <em>
    <span>talk to people</span>
  </em>
  <span> without it being about his family or his money. Sokka definitely hadn’t recognized him, although Zuko hadn’t expected him to, considering he was really only known in proximity to his father and sister, and even then only in the cutthroat business world.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s nice, a very bland kind of anonymity that Zuko hadn’t realized he would like so much. He knows it’ll end, of course — the maintenance crew will get the elevator working, Sokka will go off to his party, and Zuko will let himself into his dark, empty apartment and pour himself a glass of water and fall asleep alone. Until then, though, he thinks he can let himself revel in the strange feeling of solidarity that the night’s events have fostered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A flash of light cuts through the night, lighting the elevator up with a bright, piercing blue and throwing Sokka’s features into sharp relief before plunging them back into darkness. Zuko looks out of the window again, watching the fireworks go off in slow motion from their perch one hundred feet in the air.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s midnight,” he says quietly, more to himself than to Sokka. From outside the elevator, he can hear muffled cheers filtering through the building, the clanging of pots and pans and the din of voices dampened by the heavy metal doors. Another firework goes off, illuminating the sky.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He feels a soft touch on his shoulder, and turns to see Sokka next to him, leaning on the rail and staring out the window. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Best seat in the house,” he says, that lopsided smile back on his face, and suddenly Zuko feels as though the knots in his stomach have untied themselves. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” he agrees quietly. The word forces itself through the lump in his throat and comes out small, timid. Zuko thinks that’s okay, for once.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They watch the world light up red and green, people filtering out onto the streets below as small as ants, pouring into the crowd gathering downtown for the celebrations. The snow swirls around the tall buildings, little gusts and eddies lit up by the bright lights.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s midnight, and Zuko lets himself exist in this small bubble for just a moment. It can’t hurt, he thinks — he’ll probably never see Sokka again, he’ll just go back to his mundane life and his friends that aren’t really his friends, but for now Zuko thinks he can hold on to this strange feeling for just a moment longer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It slips through his fingers eventually, after a few minutes that feel like an eternity. The call speaker crackles back to life, and the doorman cheerily announces that he’s gotten the elevator working moments before the lights flicker back on. The little car trundles up two floors and opens, blissfully, onto the twelfth floor hallway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The dog bounds out first, but Sokka hesitates just a moment before stepping off the elevator.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“12-B,” he calls back over his shoulder. “If you want.” Zuko smiles at him as the doors close, nodding quietly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He won’t go. Whatever spell had held them there in limbo had dissipated, the elevator was just an elevator, and Sokka was just a nice man that had made polite conversation with Zuko while they were stuck in it together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko lets himself into his apartment quietly, locking the door behind him before shedding his coat and suit jacket. He drapes them over the back of his desk chair absently, beelining for the windows. He had meant to close them, he thinks, before he had gotten sidetracked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once he’s there, though, fabric bunched in his fingers, he can’t really bring himself to do it. The fireworks are still going outside, loud bursts of noise muffled slightly by the thick walls. They light up the dark room a little less than they had done in the elevator, but it’s just enough to make Zuko pause.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can let go of the feeling in the morning, he thinks. It’s a poor replacement for whatever he had felt half an hour earlier, staring out over the city with Sokka, but it’ll do.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko collapses into bed with his dress shirt and slacks still on, and falls asleep to the sounds of the new year.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. your heart is a river</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thank you all for being so patient with me — i really didn't mean to take so long uploading this but grad school finally started up and the workload got the better of me. rest assured that i won't be abandoning this, though, even if it takes a little longer than expected to update every now and then!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>oh, instincts are misleading</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>you shouldn’t think what you’re feeling</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>—————</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko knocks on the door to Mai’s lavish uptown condo at half past eight, bouquet of roses in hand and an apologetic smile plastered blithely across his face. This part, at least, is familiar — he’ll wait for Mai to open the door and give her the flowers along with their carefully rehearsed make-up speech, and she’ll usher him inside before any of her nosy neighbors can poke their heads into the hallway to see what the fuss is about. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>What he’s not expecting, however, is a bleary-eyed and pajama-clad Azula to open the door. She gives him a cursory look up and down, cocking one hip and leaning heavily against the doorframe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Roses, Zuko? Really?” Azula shakes her head. “You can do better than that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’s surprisingly composed for looking like she’s just woken up, her hair still pulled up into a messy bun atop her head and her eyes ringed with smeared makeup. Before Zuko can give her a response, Azula turns away from him, leaning back into the condo.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mai, my idiot brother is here,” she calls out. From further inside, he hears Ty Lee laugh, high and bubbly. “He brought you flowers.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a shuffling, an opening and closing of a door, and Mai appears in the doorway in her robe and slippers. She blinks at Zuko.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I texted you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko blinks back. “You— huh?” With his free hand, he digs his dead phone out of his pocket and clicks the power button, showing her the black screen. “Forgot to charge it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Forgot</span>
  </em>
  <span> is kind of an understatement, he thinks. He had never taken it out of his coat pocket in the first place, head too wrapped up in self-pity and confusion and the hazy sort of satisfaction that came with seeing Sokka’s easy smile. Zuko kind of hates to admit it, but Mai had been nowhere near his train of thought as he had fallen asleep the night before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mai, for her part, sighs softly and pinches the bridge of her nose. “Could you— fuck, Zuko, come in here, don’t just stand out in the hallway like a loser— Azula, could you let me talk to him for a second?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Azula looks like she’s about to argue (and Zuko wouldn’t put it past her, with how much she likes to meddle in his life), but instead just shrugs her shoulders and pads back into Mai’s guest bedroom, shutting the door quietly behind her. Mai watches her leaving, waiting until she hears the click before turning back to Zuko with a frown. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>tried</span>
  </em>
  <span> to tell you not to come yet,” she hisses under her breath, taking the flowers gingerly and stepping into the kitchen to find a vase. “I didn’t want to do this around Azula.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not like </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> wanted to either,” Zuko spits back. “You think I </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span> to make this any harder?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mai rolls her eyes, depositing the roses neatly into a long-necked crystal vase. Ty Lee’s voice filters out from the guest bedroom, muffled, and Zuko winces at the reminder that he’s supposed to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>acting,</span>
  </em>
  <span> even here in the safety of Mai’s apartment, the one place he’s come to think of as </span>
  <em>
    <span>safe.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He sits himself down in a barstool, swiveling away from the countertop to look out over the living room. It’s sparsely furnished, bland. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Minimalist,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Mai calls it. Zuko just thinks it looks depressing, but he isn’t really in any place to judge. At least Mai outfitted it herself. Zuko just pointed to a picture in a catalog and told the designer to </span>
  <em>
    <span>make it look like this, please.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I hate these roses, you know,” she says from behind him. “They don’t fit with my neutrals.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko hums absently in reply. Despite her words, Mai sets the vase down carefully in the center of the bar counter, poking and prodding the flowers until they’re spaced out evenly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not actually mad at you,” she says after a moment, her voice soft. “You know that, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, against all odds, Zuko does.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This is them, after all — they had been engaged before they knew what marriage was, and the very first thing Zuko’s mother had told him when it happened was </span>
  <em>
    <span>you have to be on each other’s side, always. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Of course, that hadn’t stopped </span>
  <em>
    <span>her </span>
  </em>
  <span>from walking out, but Zuko still knew his tentative agreement with Mai was worlds better than ending the engagement and letting the </span>
  <em>
    <span>why</span>
  </em>
  <span> of it all ruin both their lives. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oblivious to Zuko’s thoughts, Mai just twists the heavy diamond ring on her finger and sighs again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We don’t have to do this right now,” Zuko offers, with a cautionary glance at the hallway Azula had disappeared down. “I didn’t mean to interrupt you guys.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s there to interrupt?” Mai’s voice has a bitter edge to it that Zuko hadn’t been expecting. Almost as soon as she gets the words out, she backpedals, an apology writing itself over her prim face. “Sorry, I know it’s not your fault.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’ll come around,” says Zuko. Mai doesn’t need to ask who he’s talking about. The thought of Azula “coming around” to either of them is enough to make even her laugh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko knows that it’s hard for Mai to keep up appearances, harder even than for him, perhaps. Zuko’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>used</span>
  </em>
  <span> to being at odds with his sister, the worst thing he risks if she finds out he likes men is that she tells his father — which, granted, would probably cause Zuko all kinds of hell.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mai </span>
  <em>
    <span>needs</span>
  </em>
  <span> Azula, though, has been attached to her at the hip since they were born. Zuko doesn’t think she’d take the loss of her best friend lightly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Neither of them are under any delusions that being found out would be anything but a nightmare.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s for this reason only that Mai jumps at the sound of the guest room door opening, skirting around the edge of the bar counter and fitting herself into Zuko’s arms easily. It’s still weird to hold her like this, even after years of perfecting their little act. Zuko wraps an arm around her waist robotically, Mai rests one long-fingered hand against his shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oops! Sorry about that,” Ty Lee says, peeking her head around the corner apologetically. Mai stiffens just a fraction underneath Zuko’s hands, and he pats her hip twice to remind her to relax. “Just looking for coffee— oh, roses!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mai disentangles herself from Zuko and shuffles over to the coffee pot, and Zuko takes in a long breath to steady himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ty Lee barrels on, seating herself firmly on the countertop and swinging her legs back and forth. “You know, Mai, you complain too much. I’d </span>
  <em>
    <span>love</span>
  </em>
  <span> to have a boyfriend that brought me roses every time I got mad at him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mai hums in response, not looking up from the coffee pot. Zuko winces sympathetically.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re just flowers,” says Mai. Her voice is surprisingly even — but then again, she had always been a better actor than Zuko. “I can get my own if I want to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know, but it’s different when Zuko— oh, that reminds me, what did you do last night anyway, Zuko?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It takes a second for him to register that she’s talking to </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span> and not to Mai, her eyes wide and owlish, unblinking as she stares down at him. Zuko scrambles for an answer that's not the truth, that he got stuck in an elevator with a cute boy he’ll never see again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I, uh—” he starts, grasping at straws. “I went to a party. With friends. Other friends.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mai coughs. Ty Lee’s eyes go wider. From the doorway, Azula’s grating voice fills the room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Friends? You have </span>
  <em>
    <span>friends?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s only for Mai’s sake that Zuko keeps himself from snapping back a reply. He doesn’t need to deal with this, not today of </span>
  <em>
    <span>all </span>
  </em>
  <span>days, doesn’t need Azula trying to hook her claws into another aspect of his life. </span>
  <em>
    <span>One that doesn’t even exist,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he thinks bitterly. He’s said it now, though, and there’s no taking it back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that such a surprise?” he asks, staring her down as coolly as he can manage. “I </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span> have a life, you know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Azula examines her nails. She’s put together now, dressed for work in a sharp suit with her hair done up in its usual no-nonsense style, a briefcase in one hand. </span>
  <em>
    <span>No rest for the wicked,</span>
  </em>
  <span> says a little voice in the back of Zuko’s head. “I wouldn’t have guessed,” she replies. “Considering your entire life is here. Did you know about this, Mai?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mai, blessed wonderful angel that she is, just turns away from the coffeemaker with a saccharine smile. “Of course I did. You don’t think I’d just let him run around without telling me about it, do you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko had always admired her ability to lie on the spot. Azula seems to buy it, at the very least, turning her hawk-eyed gaze back onto him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well? Who are these </span>
  <em>
    <span>mystery friends</span>
  </em>
  <span> you say you have, and why haven’t we met them yet?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fuck. Zuko really hadn’t thought this through enough. “You wouldn’t know them,” he bites out, stalling for time as he racks his brains for the names Sokka had dropped in conversation. “Just some people who live in my building, Toph—”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Beifong?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko stops mid-sentence, his mouth open for a fraction of a second before he remembers to close it. Ty Lee is leaning over, nearly nose-to-nose with him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Shit.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh. Yes?” Zuko doesn’t actually know if that’s true or not, but there’s nothing for it but to try and bluff his way out at this point. “She lives a couple floors below me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Azula, miraculously, looks impressed. With </span>
  <em>
    <span>Zuko,</span>
  </em>
  <span> no less, which is something he never thought he’d be able to say. Holiday miracles, indeed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, brother,” she says, in a sickly sweet voice Zuko knows she puts on when she wants to wheedle information out of clients. “I had no idea you were so close with the Beifongs.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not— not really,” he chokes out. “More like a friend of a friend, sort of—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aren’t you late?” Mai cuts in. She sounds disinterested, but a glance at her sharp eyes tells Zuko all he needs to know.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Azula checks her wristwatch with a click of her tongue. “Not yet, but I will be. As fun as this is, I’ve got to dash. Enjoy your day, darlings.” Then, as an afterthought, “Oh, and you too, Zuzu.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then she’s gone, breezing out of Mai’s front door with a curt wave goodbye. Zuko visibly relaxes, sinking back into his seat. Mai comes over with two cups of coffee — black for Zuko, disgustingly sweet for Ty Lee. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t know you were friends with Toph,” Ty Lee says after a quiet moment. “I used to go to her gym.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, she’s uh— she’s great.” It’s a safe statement, if a little bland. Ty Lee wrinkles her nose.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess,” she replies. “She’s a little rough around the edges for me. No grace at all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sounds like someone we know,” says Mai, with a playful sideways look at Zuko. He does </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> pout.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ty Lee sits back and stretches, hopping down from the countertop. “Well, tell her I say hello next time you see her! Maybe I’ll try out her gym again soon. I’ve been looking for a new place anyway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And </span>
  <em>
    <span>shit,</span>
  </em>
  <span> that’s not what Zuko wants to hear — casual conversations are one thing, but he knows Ty Lee can’t resist a good bit of gossip, and he doesn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>actually</span>
  </em>
  <span> know Toph. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can’t blow his cover, though, so he just nods mutely and sips at his drink. The girls move onto other topics before long, talking about plans and places to go and </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh what would Azula think if we did this,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and Zuko lets himself fade into the background again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He leaves not long after Ty Lee does, pausing just long enough to let the tension bleed from his shoulders, allowing himself and Mai a moment to just be themselves, without the rest of the world looking in on them. After that he heads home, treading the path he had taken the night before. It looks different in the daylight — still snowed-over but less ethereal, less dreamy. The sunlight beams down through the clouds and casts a blinding glare off the snowdrifts packed on the edges of the sidewalk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko has two options. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>One, he leaves well enough alone and hopes to god that Ty Lee doesn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>actually</span>
  </em>
  <span> decide to strike up her old friendship with Toph Beifong — in which case he’s saved, and life can go on as normal, and his real circle of friends can stay well enough away from his fake one. If she </span>
  <em>
    <span>does</span>
  </em>
  <span> decide to, though, he’s screwed — Ty Lee will know he’s lying, which means </span>
  <em>
    <span>Azula</span>
  </em>
  <span> will know he’s lying, and she had seemed far too interested in the Beifongs to let something like that go easily.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Or, he can cast aside the scraps of his dignity and find Toph before his sister and her friends can sink their claws into her. It wouldn’t be too bad, he thinks. Sokka had said she was cool, and given out her address, and maybe he could just drop by and ask how her dog is doing—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No, that’s fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>weird.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He mulls it over the entire walk home, no closer to an answer when he steps into the lobby than he had been when he left Mai’s in the first place. His hand hesitates for an embarrassingly long time over the panel of elevator buttons — </span>
  <em>
    <span>twelve, fifteen, twelve, fifteen, twelve, fifteen — </span>
  </em>
  <span>before he grits his teeth and pushes the button for the twelfth floor with his eyes closed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The elevator rumbles up the floors slowly, but whatever magic the maintenance crew had cast last night seems to have worked. It doesn’t stop until the red marker above the door reads out </span>
  <em>
    <span>1-2,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and the metal grate opens out onto a hallway identical to Zuko’s own.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s quiet enough that Zuko can hear his heart pounding in his chest as he makes his way down to the door marked 12-B. On his own floor, apartment B is inhabited by a sweet old lady that waves at him whenever she catches him in the hallway and sometimes leaves baskets of baked goods outside every other door on the fifteenth floor. On Toph’s floor, apartment B feels like an impossible goal, like the space between him and the door is an obstacle course he has to overcome.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knocks three times, and is met with silence. He lets a minute pass, two minutes — maybe she’s asleep, he thinks. Sokka had said her parties run late, and a quick glance at his watch tells him it’s not even ten in the morning yet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knocks again. There’s no response from behind the door, not even a hint of movement. Breathing out slowly, Zuko lets his forehead fall against the dark wood for a moment, just long enough to gather his thoughts before turning to leave—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you looking for me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Fuck,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Zuko breathes, pressing one hand to his pounding heart. There’s a girl in front of him that he hadn’t heard walk up, misty-eyed and at least a foot shorter than Zuko. Her left hand holds a steaming to-go cup, her right is wrapped around the leash of the enormous white dog Zuko had met the night before. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The only thing he has time to register is </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh, she’s tiny,</span>
  </em>
  <span> before the dog charges him, an armful of furry monstrosity leaping right up at Zuko’s chest. He staggers, arms flailing up to catch the dog as a warm, wet tongue leaves lines of slobber over his left cheek.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Appa, </span>
  <em>
    <span>down,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>says the girl with a short stomp of her foot. The dog retreats with a whine, padding backwards into the space between her and Zuko, shuffling its paws and wagging its tail. “What do you want?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko— hadn’t actually thought he would get this far. “I’m, uh,” he stutters, running one hand through his hair. “I’m Zuko, I met your friend last night and I wanted to—”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Sparky?”</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko blinks at the interruption. “What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re that guy Sokka met, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I. Uh. Yes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Toph’s face splits into a wicked smile, completely offsetting her small stature and relatively harmless looks. “Great,” she says quickly, shoving the to-go cup into Zuko’s hands and fishing a keyring out of her pocket. “You’re coming with me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko takes note of the way she feels around the edges of the keyring, how she pats the doorknob and lock momentarily before unlocking it, and some little tidbit of understanding falls into place in the back of his head. Absently, he reaches up to touch the puckered skin around his left eye.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before he can comment on it, though, Toph ushers him through the doorway, making grabby hands at the cup as he passes. He hands it back over easily, watching to make sure she doesn’t spill. It’s a paper cup, simple and plain, with a small logo of a dragon twisting itself around a flower.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, isn’t this—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before he can get the rest of his question out, Toph does three things. First, she lets go of Appa’s leash, letting him charge full speed into the apartment and vault bodily onto the couch. Second, she flips a series of switches by the door, flooding the room with enough light to make even Zuko wince. Third, she yells. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Loud.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Snoozles! Get the fuck up, your boyfriend is here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a pained wheeze from somewhere underneath Appa, followed by a series of thuds that can’t be anything but painful. Zuko winces.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My b— come on, Toph, turn the lights off, I have a headache.” There’s a pained murmur of assent from the corner, where Zuko can see what looks like a girl in a green dress, curled up in a veritable blanket nest on the living room rug. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Toph sighs dramatically. “You’re such a fucking pansy,” she complains, before obliging and flicking off just enough lights to leave the room barely visible. The curtains are dark enough that the afternoon sun can’t make its way into the room, but Zuko can still see the outline of a tall, broad figure extracting himself from Appa’s fluffy mass.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It takes a second for Zuko to realize that it's </span>
  <em>
    <span>Sokka</span>
  </em>
  <span> standing there and stretching, button-up shirt open to the navel and hair loose and messy around his cheekbones. His mouth goes pitifully dry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In a desperate bid to keep his dignity, Zuko grabs at Toph’s sleeve as she starts to make her way further into the apartment. “Actually,” he hisses, “I just wanted to talk to you, but if it’s not a good time, then I can just come back later.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s the best time, actually,” replies Toph, her voice sharp and matter-of-fact. “Loverboy here needs to get out of my house.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>right here,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> says the girl in green, sitting upright in the middle of the blanket pile. She’s unfairly pretty, even Zuko can see that, shiny auburn hair and long, delicate limbs. Her mouth is slanted into a sharp frown, and Zuko wonders if this is the </span>
  <em>
    <span>girlfriend-not-girlfriend </span>
  </em>
  <span>Sokka had mentioned the night before. “Really, Toph, could you keep it down?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka, thankfully, seems too incoherent to have noticed Zuko standing in the doorway like an idiot. Instead, he’s turned away from Toph and Zuko, shrugging the rumpled shirt back up over his shoulders and doing up the buttons as deftly as he can while half asleep. From his vantage point, Zuko has a clear view of his broad shoulders and muscled back, a wide expanse of tan skin that’s covered up far too quickly by the pull of white cotton.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko reminds himself to not ogle strangers like a creep. A little voice in the back of his head tells him that Sokka isn’t exactly a </span>
  <em>
    <span>stranger, </span>
  </em>
  <span>per se. He ignores it firmly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look, Toph,” Zuko tries again, hunching down as if it’ll make him any less visible in the small foyer. “I didn’t come here looking for him, I just needed a favor, really.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you’ll get a favor, but I </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> need him out of here first.” Toph rolls her eyes, her blank gaze landing somewhere to the left of Zuko’s head. “Seriously. He won’t leave unless someone makes him, and Suki’s going to be here all day and that’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>worse.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Just babysit him for a few hours. Or, better yet, dump his ass at home and leave him there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko wrinkles his nose, opening his mouth to reply, when Sokka finally turns back around.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Toph, do you— </span>
  <em>
    <span>Zuko?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>literally</span>
  </em>
  <span> just told you he was here, dumbass.” Toph stomps her way over to Sokka, shoving her palms flat against his shoulder blades and propelling him bodily towards Zuko. From behind the two of them, Zuko can still see the other woman — Suki?</span>
  <em>
    <span> — </span>
  </em>
  <span>sizing him up with narrowed eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before Zuko can say anything to stop her, Toph has pushed Sokka into a standing position directly in front of him. From this close, Zuko can see the light dusting of freckles across his tan cheeks, offsetting the piercing blue of his eyes. It sets his heart running at a jackrabbit pace through his ribcage, made worse by the way Sokka blinks blearily down at him with a dopey half-smile on his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Toph makes an aborted gagging noise from somewhere behind the considerable expanse of Sokka’s shoulders. “Out,” she bites, prodding her tiny fingers sharp into Sokka’s side. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They get thrown into the hallway without fanfare, Toph shooing Sokka through the open doorway. Zuko follows, perplexed, watching silently as she closes the door, pauses, then reopens it to shove a small piece of paper into Zuko’s hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks down at the little card. It’s thick, high quality paper, embossed with a logo of a— flying pig? Below that, printed across the front of the card in thick green letters are the words </span>
  <em>
    <span>Toph Beifong,</span>
  </em>
  <span> followed by what Zuko can only assume is her phone number.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, Sokka?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka blinks, halfway through pulling his loose hair up into the ponytail he had been wearing the night before. He’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>unfairly</span>
  </em>
  <span> pretty, Zuko thinks, even half-asleep and in day-old clothes. There’s a hairband tucked between his lips, muffling the </span>
  <em>
    <span>mmph?</span>
  </em>
  <span> he gives in reply.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why does your friend just keep business cards in her apartment?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In the end, Zuko ends up taking pity on Sokka and treats him to a cup of coffee — influenced in no small part by the way Sokka manages to make even the most ridiculous and overblown of puppy-eyed expressions look genuine. It feels like the least he can do, considering they’re just two floors away from his own apartment, and Sokka keeps rubbing at his eyes like he’ll fall back asleep on the spot if he stops moving for more than two seconds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Long night?” Zuko asks as he unocks his front door, Sokka trailing behind him like a lost duckling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In lieu of a response, Sokka just groans, hanging his head forward. It’s a pitiful move, one Zuko might have chided him good-naturedly for if he had known Sokka better, and if the movement didn’t leave Sokka’s forehead brushing Zuko’s shoulder just the barest amount. He takes it as a yes, and steers Sokka gently by the shoulders to sit at his dining table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko doesn’t let himself dwell on the </span>
  <em>
    <span>strangeness</span>
  </em>
  <span> of the past twenty-four hours, past the stunning realization that he had somehow grown his social circle by a whole two thirds — although, he figures, given it had previously been made up of only three people, that isn’t really saying much.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, Sokka is </span>
  <em>
    <span>here </span>
  </em>
  <span>in his kitchen, with brilliant gratitude etched across his pretty face as Zuko presses a steaming mug of medium roast into his hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cream? Sugar?” asks Zuko, because it’s all the sound he can force out of his throat. Sokka’s fingers brush his own before grabbing the cup, and Zuko isn’t sure whether it’s because he just wasn’t focused enough to take hold of the cup on the first try, or if it’s something else entirely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then the memory of the night before slams into the back of Zuko’s head like a freight train, reminding him that Sokka thinks he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>engaged</span>
  </em>
  <span>, never mind that it’s a farce, and that Sokka has a </span>
  <em>
    <span>not-girlfriend</span>
  </em>
  <span> sitting in a unit two floors below. Zuko can’t afford to be reading into little gestures like this, not when their friendship — can he call it that, yet? — is still so new and fragile. He hasn’t thought this through, maybe for the first time in his life, and it’s an exhilarating feeling. This strange freedom, this unfamiliar experience of </span>
  <em>
    <span>knowing</span>
  </em>
  <span> and </span>
  <em>
    <span>speaking</span>
  </em>
  <span> and </span>
  <em>
    <span>feeling</span>
  </em>
  <span> all wrapped up in the first person he’s met that couldn’t care less about his family.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko wonders if he’s allowed to have this — just this, just for the day, and he would be happy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you have condensed milk, actually?” Sokka says, and Zuko’s eyebrows shoot up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I, uh— I think so? One moment,” replies Zuko. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He darts off, opening his cupboards and rooting around more as an excuse to clear his head without Sokka’s icy blue eyes on him than in an actual attempt to look for the little tin can he knows is on the third shelf. When he brings it back to the table, paired with a little stirring spoon he had plucked from the drawer just to buy himself a little more time, Sokka pops the can open and pours nothing short of an appalling amount into his little white mug. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The coffee turns soft and milky as he stirs it, tired eyes fixed on the mug to avoid spilling any of the drink over the edge. Zuko has to look away, surveying the incredibly interesting contents of his countertop, in order to feel like he’s not intruding on some kind of early morning ritual. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He ponders, for a moment, what the expectation here is supposed to be. Is he giving Sokka a pick-me-up and then sending him on his merry way? Should he invite the man to stick around, to sit at his table and eat his food and just exist in this little space so Zuko doesn’t feel so achingly lonely for once?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t know what Toph meant by </span>
  <em>
    <span>babysitting, </span>
  </em>
  <span>but he has a feeling it wasn’t that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka makes an obscene noise when he takes his first sip, loud enough to bring a heady flush to Zuko’s cheeks. “That’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>nectar,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> he groans, eyes still closed as he sets the mug back down with a </span>
  <em>
    <span>clink.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “Of course you buy fancy rich boy coffee.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Zuko declines to point out that Sokka probably can’t even </span>
  <em>
    <span>taste</span>
  </em>
  <span> the coffee underneath all the sticky sweet cream he had loaded into the cup. Instead, he shrugs, fiddling with the handle of his own mug to keep his fingers occupied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My sister buys most of it for me. I’m not a huge coffee drinker.” For emphasis, he lifts his mug just a fraction, the clear green tea inside swirling ever so slightly. It was true, too — he rarely touched his coffee maker, just kept it cleaned and ready in case Azula or Mai decided to drop by at some ungodly hour.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sokka hums around the rim of his mug. “Tell your sister she has good taste, then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The thought of telling Azula </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything </span>
  </em>
  <span>about this strange morning has Zuko’s hackles rising, but he just nods a placating assent in Sokka’s direction.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t know what to do with this, with the odd feeling that bubbles up around him whenever Sokka shows up. It leaves him grounded and floundering for stable footing all at once, as if he’s been granted a temporary reprieve from normal life and thrust into some semblance of a parallel world, where he’s allowed to have a cute boy over for coffee without it being some kind of huge, earth-shattering </span>
  <em>
    <span>thing.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It’ll fade, he knows, just like the night in the elevator had. Sokka will walk out his front door and go back to whatever it is he does in his spare time, and Zuko will keep on existing and existing and existing until he runs into Sokka again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For now, though, he just sips quietly at his tea and lets himself </span>
  <em>
    <span>be.</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>a fun fact: this is exactly how i take my coffee, and i get teased relentlessly about it.</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>kudos and comments make a fic author's world go round. feel free to let me know what you thought! much love to everyone who read this &lt;3</p><p>- owl</p></blockquote></div></div>
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